


We Wouldn't Fail (Anything Else)

by winter_rogue



Series: Bury Me Upside Down [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_rogue/pseuds/winter_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Whoa,” Stiles murmured roughly, touching his fingers softly to his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Wouldn't Fail (Anything Else)

**Author's Note:**

> written for angst_bingo fill "Love spell/potion gone wrong"
> 
> more details about the dub-con warning at the end

Later, the thing he’ll feel most guilty about is the fact he just _didn’t notice sooner._

 

# 

“You know, if you keeping showing up here unannounced the shock effect is going to disappear. Already I feel almost no surprise that you’re here.” Stiles threw his backpack unceremoniously into a corner of the room and his body onto his bed. He lay there, prostrate, staring blankly up at the white popcorn ceiling; intensely aware, despite himself, of Derek breathing and existing less than four feet away.

The werewolf was silent, somehow managing to loom from his hunched place in Stiles’ desk chair

“Was there something you wanted?” Stiles blew out an exasperated breath. “I do actually have things I need to do tonight so if you need something looked up or researched you better get your request in now.” Nothing. Stiles cracked an eye and glanced over at his uninvited house guest. Derek’s eyes were blank and disconcertingly fixed on his face. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, he’d been working on it. It payed to refine an eyebrow dialect when dealing regularly with Derek Hale.

“Well?” Stiles pushed, he couldn't help pushing. He thought it really was one of his best characteristics.

Derek resettled himself in the desk chair and looked away. Stiles finally noticed that he had his copy of _The Great Gatsby_ in his hands. Interesting, possibly terrifying. Stiles huffed softly and rolled into his sheets, buried his head in his pillow and closed his eyes. His whole body ached, the downside to coach deciding he was suddenly a useful and to be used player. Jackson hadn't gone easy on him on the field.

“Busy sleeping.”

“If I want to.”

Derek snorted softly.

“Whatever sourwolf, being a teenager is hard work.”

“I’m sure it’s exhausting.”

Stiles hummed agreeably. He was a hundred percent positive that Derek was mocking him but his eyes felt heavy and his bed was comfortable and warm. There was an odd sort of awareness thrumming between them but it didn’t feel especially dangerous, impending doom. Between one breath and the next, he fell asleep

#

Stiles woke up the next morning hot and a little sleep sweaty. There was a dead weight on his legs and waist. He felt soft and cocooned and he let himself drift for what felt like a long time. Derek didn’t shift from where he lay across Stiles outside the comforter.

Eventually, Stiles fell back asleep. It was Saturday and the world wasn't on fire, he could afford to sleep in a little.

#

They never discussed the impromptu bed sharing and Stiles chalked it up in the Werewolf Column of Inexplicable Things. The sort of things that went on that list didn't make sense but they weren't worth getting upset about or demanding explanations for most of the time, not compared to the column of Really Fucked Up Werewolf Related Things-- which was a list he found distressingly long on its own.

So Stiles let it lie-- heh-- and went on with his life. Fall midterms were right around the corner and he was neck deep studying for Harris’ AP Chemistry test and anything he could find on Hallow’s Eve. No one had said to expect anything bad to happen-- if Buffy was anything to go by, by all rights Halloween should be quiet-- but Stiles wasn't reassured by everything he’d read so far. When he’d asked, Derek only grunted and muttered something along the lines of--

“There is no such thing as vampires Stiles, don’t be stupid. 

\--and leapt out of his bedroom window like self-defenestration was a preferable alternative to continuing their non-conversation.

When Derek reappeared in his bedroom window holding two cups of coffee and looking a little bit lost Stiles considered half a dozen questions, discarded them, and settled for making _gimme_ hands at one of the cups.

“For me?”

Derek frowned but jerkily thrust it into his hands.

Stiles inhaled still hot caramel latte goodness and couldn't contain his breathy happy noises.

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you thank you thank you God, this is amazing.” He spun lazily back and forth in his computer chair, sipping appreciatively. Derek was silent, a dark shadow, awkward and still holding the second cup without actually drinking it.

“This is a bribe isn't it?” he asked finally. “Something terrible really _is_ about to like, burst out of the Beacon Hill’s Cemetery to eat all of our brains and you need me to find a way to stop them and save the day and you’re bribing me with coffee.” This coffee was way too delicious to come without strings attached. A string attached to one Derek Hale and whatever insanity much be following him.

“It’s not a bribe,” he protested quietly, looking sort of constipated. And grumpy. So, pretty much how he always looked, if a little less outright ragey.

Stiles squinted at him suspiciously but shrugged it off and hummed concimittaly. “Are you _sure_ it’s not a bribe?”

“Pretty sure,” Derek gritted out between his teeth; thankfully dull, normal human looking, teeth.

“Right, well, who am I to look a gift horse-- of in this case, a gift wolf-- in the-- you know what, we don’t need this metaphor. Thank you for the non-bribery coffee.” he spun back around to the stack of books layered on his desk and picked up where he’d left off in the grimoire he’d found on ebay.

He was acutely aware of Derek’s presence behind him. The man loomed rather loudly for not making any noise. Stiles tried to tune him out and focus on what he was reading but it wasn't easy. So sue him if he found it hard to believe this was really no strings attached coffee.

“What are you..." 

“Reading?” Stiles glanced back over his shoulder after the pause and tried not to jump at how close Derek was. 

He swallowed a little convulsively, almost a nervous gesture, meeting Stiles’ eyes and then glancing away. “Yeah.”

Stiles held up the book so he could read the cover. Derek’s eye flicked to it then to his face, landing on his mouth for a second.

“Where--?”

“Ebay. Vintage bookseller. I had to fight a couple wiccans for it but I think it’s going to be worth worth. It has a ton of information on herbs and moon cycles and holidays.” He waited a couple uncomfortable seconds but Derek didn’t seem to have anything to say to that so eventually Stiles went back to his research and tried to ignore the stranger than normal, creeper wolf. If he strained, not that he did, and was very quiet and listened very closely, he could hear the tell tale sips where Derek was actually and finally drinking his coffee.

Eventually Stiles felt tired and closed his laptop. He turned and found the room empty. It was well after midnight and he went to sleep.

#

A big pileup on the road into Beacon Hills Thanksgiving morning meant the Sheriff would be in at work most, if not all, of the day. Scott and his mom were out of town for the weekend at his grandparents. Stiles found himself staring a little forlornly at the mess of dinner fixings populating his otherwise empty kitchen.

A thump followed by a loud crash lead him up to his bedroom, lacrosse stick in hand. Stiles nudged his door open quietly and peered around it at--

Derek jumped to his feet, expression sheepish and Stiles relaxed. 

“Well, this is less of a surprise than it probably should be.”

“You booby trapped your window,” Derek’s tone was distinctly accusing.

Stiles rolled his eyes and popped the lacrosse stick up behind his door. He started straightening the lego figures Derek had knocked every which way across his bedroom floor, piling them up on his desk.

“Hardly. I was bored. Not my fault you jumped through my window without looking. Which, speaking of, what do you want? There isn’t some sort of Thanksgiving monster on the loose is there? Were-turkeys we have to hunt down?”

Derek-- well, there really wasn't a better word for it, Derek fidgeted and looked at anything that wasn’t Stiles.

Stiles widened his eyes comically. “Really? _Were-turkeys?”_

The alpha hufed irritably and glared a little. It looked distressingly fond for a Derek-glare.

“I’d tell you to stop being ridiculous but that seems like a hopeless request.”

“Hah! He jokes. Still haven't owned up what youre doing crashing my room though.”

“Isaac heard about the accident. We, ah,” he was back to rocking the awkward socially constipated face. He looked, briefly, like he was weighing the pros and cons of just running away. “Your dad’s at the station?”

“For the foreseeable future,” Stiles confirmed neutrally. It wouldn't be the first thanksgiving he spent on his own.

“Erica’s cooking,” Derek blurted, looking pained. Stiles didn't bother suppressing his smirk. “it’s frightening and kind of terrible.”

“So you thought you’d hide from Erica’s questionable cooking in my bedroom? Very original.” but he was grinning while he said it.

“No, I thought maybe you could come save us all from it. I have a kitchen you know, I have a whole house actually, it’s not falling down at all anymore. I realize that used to be a problem for you.”

Stiles opened his mouth to comment on _that_ but paused. Derek looked uncomfortable, sure, but also more than a little hopeful. He considered the food downstairs and Derek’s betas: “Okay, but you’re helping carry everything to the car and we’re going to use the _front door_. Capiche?"

“Okay,” Derek’s mouth quirked up a little. If Stiles squinted it looked an awful lot like a smile.

#

Someone-- Stiles wasn’t pointing any fingers this time, there was a pretty good chance it had been a joint conspiracy-- put a dozen sprigs of mistletoe up in every doorway at the renovated Hale house.

“Whoa,” Stiles murmured roughly, touching his fingers softly to his lips. They felt all tingly with the ghost impression of Derek’s mouth on his.

“Is this okay?”

“Wha-- yes, absolutely yes. More, in fact.” He tangled his fingers in thick dark hair and tugged their faces back together. “More,” he kissed into Derek’s lips.

#

He was more disturbed by how _not_ disturbed he was, waking up four or five nights a week wrapped up around Derek in his bed. They lay close and tangled together, hardly enough space to breath in the small bed. He was never cold, laying flush, skin to skin with the wolf.

It felt uncomfortably normal. Domestic. A dusting of snow welcomed in the new year, break ended and they all went back to school, senior year sputtering slowly onwards. And Derek kept sneaking in through his bedroom window to keep him company in the evenings and kiss him to sleep when it got to be too much and he couldn't turn his brain off. Derek’s mouth was entirely too adept at shutting off his brain.

#

He’d never had someone to ring in the New Year with before. If he’d imagined it-- and okay, Stiles knew he was fooling no one, of _course_ he’d imagined it-- he would have dreamed up kissing Lydia while the ball dropped in NYC. Stiles couldn't work up much disappointment, or any at all really, that midnight found him curled up in a recliner with Derek, their pack spread out around them, watching terrible B-quality werewolf movies and generally being obnoxious.

This thing between them was new and surprising, but he was comfortably unsurprised by how easy it was, how natural. Like everything had just been waiting for Stiles and Derek to pull their heads out of their asses and get their act together. 

So when the clock ticked over, the digital numbers slipping silently over to 12:00, Stiles tilted his chin up without saying a word, head heavy on Derek’s shoulder. The alpha leaned in, running his nose along the soft edge of his jaw and pressed his mouth to Stiles’. He closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth and pressure.

Stiles could feel surreptitious eyes on them on when they finally pulled away. He ignored the confused look on Scott’s face and tucked himself in closer, Derek’s arms herd around his waist and shoulders.

#

“Have you ever met a vampire before?”

“There’s no such thing as vampires. This isn’t _Twilight_.” Stiles could actually hear the eye rolling that was going on, even if he couldn’t see Derek’s face.

“What about a kelpie?”

Derek frowned into the skin of his neck. “We’re over a hundred miles away from the ocean, why would there be kelpies?” His hands slid warm and comfortable up underneath Stiles’ shirt, heavy against his belly, casually possessive. “They’re more Atlantic Ocean anyways. They like cooler water.”

“So you _have_ met one?”

Derek snorted and pulled them lower on the bed until they were lying on their sides, Stiles’ back flush to Derek’s chest. He made a protesting noise as the movement pulled him away from his laptop.

“I don’t think you need to be worrying about kelpies.”

“You say that now,” Stiles huffed. He finally gave up trying to read and gently slid the computer off his bed to the relative safety of the floor and settled back more fully into Derek. “You’ll regret it when they show up and try to eat all our faces though.”

He shivered at the rough scratch of stubble behind his ear. Derek pressed a string of kisses across his skin.

“I promise I won’t let the kelpies tear off your face.”

“That’s so romantic, however did I get so lucky, wind up with someone as romantic as you?” Stiles replied, reaching back to poke Derek in his side.

“Hmm,” he hummed instead of an actual reply, pushing away Stiles’ hand. He wrapped his arms around Stiels, trapping the younger boy’s arms to his sides and tucked them even closer together. Until there wasn’t a millimeter of space between them. Stiles kind of wanted to call whatever was happening _cuddling_. It had the distinct flavor of cuddling, even if Derek would deny it.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Derek murmured quietly after some time had passed. Stiles was drifting, his thoughts aimlessly jumping from one sleepy musing to another. The words barely registered by he snorted softly, if a soft sleepy snort could also be considered sarcastic.

#

“Oh god, Derek, hnng--harder. Please. Fuck!” Stiles raked his nails across the slippery planes of Derek’s back. He dug in hard, enjoying the way it made the alpha growl and thrust in harder. Visceral, if only for the moment the scratches appeared as stark red lines across flawless skin before fading away.

Derek was all muscle and energy and a hard, relentless rhythm. Forcing his way inside again and again, until their movement, point and counterpoint was the whole world.

And because he was Stiles, he couldn’t stop talking. Not through getting fingered, and definitely not through getting fucked to within an inch of his life, gasping out broken words and intelligible sounds, a steady stream of encouragement and filth that Derek tried to kiss out of him to no avail. He felt the head coiling in his balls, his cock jammed almost painfully between their sweaty bodies. He couldn’t keep up with the kiss, mouth falling open, gasping breaths into Derek’s stubbled cheek and still with the words. Derek’s name whispered almost reverently over and over again until it almost became a prayer. 

He was Stiles, penitent at the throne of Derek Hale, alpha werewolf, sex god.

“Fuck!”

“ _Stiles_ , will you just--”

“Sorry, sorry, I would if I could but I really don’t. God, do you have any idea how amazing you dick feels?”

He could feel Derek’s smirk against his neck.

“Yeah yeah, okay, shut up!”

“You first,” he said, sealing their lips back together.

#

There’s an old, leather bound book sitting next to his computer when he gets home. Nothing he’s seen before except that he recognizes the title from his ebay browsing history, a grimoire he’d been eyeing but couldn’t actually afford to buy. Not if he wanted to put gas in the Jeep the rest of the month. There’s no note or anything like-- like a bow or something but--

Stiles grins quietly to himself and flips open the first page.

#

“Stiles,” Scott whined piteously.

“Scott,” he muttered back absently, not really willing to pull his attention away from the soft skin behind Derek’s ear. The alpha rumbled softly, the noise vibrating through Stiles’ hands splayed across his chest. For once their positions were reversed, Derek playing the little spoon.

“You guys are giving the rest of us cavities,” Lydia piped up.

“The irony of _any one of you_ trying to judge me about couple-y cuteness is just, I don’t think the world can survive that much irony.” Stiles stuck his tongue out at Erica’s smirking face and pulled Derek in tighter against his chest. He tucked his chin over his shoulder and firmly decided to go back to ignoring them, instead enjoying the closeness. With their lives, it payed to grab each moment of goodness when it came to you. You never knew when and how bloody it would get taken away.

Whatever, Derek didn’t seem to mind.

#

The last week of January a group of faeries set up camp in the woods outside town and started pulling pranks on the unsuspecting populace. Their leader, a willowy raven hair queen sneered at Derek’s threats and growling attempts at intimidation.

Stiles found himself between the two like a gruff and a cold place, Derek radiating anger and tension at his back. He was acutely aware of the Queen’s eyes taking note of clawed hands at his hips, warm and tight.

“Okay, hold on. This is Hale land. It’s _been_ Hale land for a really long time. So what do I have to say to get you to leave? Or would you prefer to have your face ripped off by our alpha, because those are your options at this point. Trust me.”

The queen stepped right into his space, pale milky eyes all but caressing him with a look. Stiles steeled himself not to flinch away. She reached out to touch him, smiling widely when Derek snarled and snapped at her over Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Well, look at that, it took. Love’s a good look on you, Alpha. I hope you’re enjoying my...gift.” Her mouth stretched in a sharp edged grin, almost obscene.

“What the hell does that mean?” Stiles frowned and pushed her hand away from them.

She turned back to him, the grin morphing into something sharp and painful. “He was so sad and lonely, so _pathetique_. I thought I might give him a little something to pass the time.”

“If you’ve hurt--”

“Just a little love spell, child, nothing more.” She cocked her head, watched him. 

Stiles felt a cold, hard _something_ settle in the pit of his stomach. Felt all the blood draining out of his extremities, his heart thundering in his chest, he felt cold. No, he felt numb. He wanted desperately to look away from her, to deny what she was saying. Stiles could still feel Derek at his back, snarling, but sounding a bit more confused. His hands were pinpricks of sensation through Stiles’ clothes, the only thing he could feel.

“What.”

“Just a little push. I thought maybe one of his wolves would satisfy it, but you’re so much better.” She ran a blood warm tongue across her top teeth. 

“You-- you put Derek under a--” He couldn’t say the words. For possibly the first time in his entire life, his voice deserted him, fled, like the coward he might possibly be. Stiles wished that he was weak enough to give in and just throw up. But he, he couldn’t do that, not right now. If she was telling the truth, if she’d compromised Derek in some way, then he-- fuck, he had to be the--

Stiles grit his teeth. “Undo it.”

“Now now,” the Queen sneered at him, getting up right in his personal space. “Don’t be so--”

He didn’t think, just slipped the cold, iron blade out and up until the point caught at her clothes, just below her heart. “Undo. It.”

“Fine,” she snapped, eyes flaring. She stepped away, putting distance between her body and the blade, snapped her fingers like it was nothing. Like it meant nothing. Like--

And behind him he felt Derek go tense-- tenser?-- more tense, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights of a predator. He jerked, just enough to put an inch of space between them. Stiles tried to suppress a shiver. He didn’t want to turn, he couldn’t.

“You’re no fun,” the Queen pouted at him. “Look, he’s all sad again.”

“Leave and don’t come back,” Stiles heard the words coming out of his mouth but he couldn’t think. His mind was static and white noise. And he couldn’t turn. But he could stand there, face blank, until the faerie Queen huffed, her and her entourage disappearing with a shimmer of light and air.

The forest was still, and silent.

 

END

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> dub-con is for a sexual relationship Derek enters into with Stiles (who is also unaware though not effected by the spell itself) while under the influence of a faerie's love spell


End file.
